On July 4th, 2006, I embarked on a quest to become the pre-eminent American portrait painter of the 21st century. This blog chronicles that journey. With apologies to Joan Didion, I call it THE YEAR OF MAGICAL PAINTING.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

On the Nature of Dogs

Dogs are one of the greatest physical embodiments of love on Earth. Puppies in particular.

Hypothetical scenario: Do you know when you get a new puppy? Say a beagle or a black lab and you name him Mr. Pickles or something? And you hold out a num-num and he comes running over, feet slipping out from under him on the polished floor, ears and tongue everywhere, excited about getting a snack? This perfect bundle of love? And instead of giving him the num-num you smack him across the top of the head with the rolled-up newspaper you've been hiding behind your back? And the look of pain and hurt and surprise and disillusionment that covers the little thing's face as he slinks away?

This is called letting the dog know who is the boss. Cesar Milan would call it being the pack leader.

Me? I would never dream of doing such a thing. I love dogs. I'm just trying to give you a frame of reference for what I'm about to say:

If the NFL thinks I'm going to continue to watch the tantalizingly close Patriots/Texans game, only to be slapped over the head with the metaphorical rolled-up newspaper by Tom Brady and Bill Belichick, you've got another thing coming. It's happened too too many times before, and I'm not an idiot.

No friends, I'll be in my basement room with a needle and a spoon. Later I'll check nfl.com and, if the coast is clear, I'll watch the second half of the game.